Finally Home - Deamus
by Meowshmallowx
Summary: After a mission that killed Seamus, Dean has to cope on his own, balancing his last promise to Seamus with his own grief. Very short, three-chaptered fic, not counting the prologue and epilogue.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Seamus gritted his teeth against the pain, too weak and too tired to fight it any longer but too feverishly awake to sleep it away. Sweat slicked his sandy hair to his forehead and dripped all down his back. He was coated in grease and sure he smelled awful, but Dean stayed by him day and night regardless. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he stared through half-lidded eyes at his lover. Dean was sleeping, his face tight and anxious, and Seamus felt a pang of guilt. He'd made sure that sadness and fear followed Dean even to sleep by being so foolish. He should never have kissed him, should never have made any advances at all, should never even have tried to be his friend... Seamus sobbed weakly, and Dean jolted awake.

"Shay," murmured Dean softly, his brown eyes filled with love and kindness and worry Seamus didn't deserve, "you're awake."

Seamus tried and failed to swallow. His throat muscles wouldn't cooperate; his entire body was shutting down, and he wouldn't last much longer. He couldn't even _speak_ anymore. Dean tightened his grip on Seamus's fingers, bringing them up to his soft mouth to kiss gently. Seamus managed a smile, a smile for Dean, and turned his head slightly. A figure was standing in the corner, the most beautiful being Seamus had ever seen. He frowned; the being seemed familiar, and he wasn't entirely sure why. It shown with a soft, soothing light. The being smiled at him, and Seamus found himself capable of speaking-no, not quite speaking, but of conveying his thoughts to the being.

"You're here for me, aren't you?" asked Seamus, resigned. "You're here to take me and not to heal me, yeah?"

"Yes," replied the being. "I am sorry, Seamus Finnigan. This is the fate for which you were slated, and I am incapable of fighting these forces, as are you."

Seamus set his jaw.

"Can I have a few more moments, at least?" he begged the being. "Not for me. I've been selfish enough. It...it's for Dean."

The being frowned, concentrating, and it struck Seamus as to why the figure seemed so familiar. It looked like Dean. _That explains the beautiful part,_ he thought, his gaze flicking briefly to Dean.

"I can allow you five minutes of renewed strength, Seamus Finnigan," acquiesced the being, "five minutes and nothing more."

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Do not waste your time thanking me," the being told him sharply. "Spend your last moments with your Dean."

Seamus nodded and drew in a deep, rattling breath, turning his head to look at Dean, who met his gaze steadily and unflinchingly. He mustered a weak smile. Dean smiled faintly back, squeezing Seamus's hand.

"I...I love you, Dean," rasped Seamus, feeling hot tears well up in his eyes.

Horror slackened Dean's expression, dread of what he knew was to come, but he said nothing. Seamus felt another awful pang, knowing Dean did this entirely for him.

"I love you too, Seamus," whispered Dean, sliding his arms around Seamus and holding him tightly. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Seamus raised his trembling arms up to wrap around Dean. He was weak, but he would use the last ounce of his strength for this. Dean, shaking violently, pressed his lips to Seamus's, kissing him gently and with such sweet sadness that they both found themselves crying.

"Dean," coughed Seamus, gripping Dean tightly by the shoulders. " _Dean_."

"Seamus," managed Dean, trembling with the effort of holding back sobs.

"Promise...promise me something," he pleaded with Dean.

"Anything," responded Dean resolutely, his brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Anything, always and forever."

"Promise me you won't waste away in that flat," commanded Seamus, his voice stronger than it had been in a year. "Promise me you won't shut yourself up and mope. Promise me you won't just mourn. Promise me you'll be happy, even if I'm not there. Promise me...promise me that, if you find someone you love, you won't hold out for my memory."

Dean sucked in a breath.

"I...I..." he stammered, paling. "Seamus, I love _you_. I couldn't ever love anyone else. You know that."

Seamus closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to bask in the warm feeling that gave him.

"Yeah, well, you might find someone else," countered Seamus, though the mere thought of Dean with anyone other than himself hurt beyond anything. "You might, and by Merlin, I _won't_ be the one stopping you from happiness. That'd be a slight to me name, Dean Thomas, and you know it."

Dean laughed through his tears, and Seamus grinned. For just a moment, it was as though everything was okay again.

"Fine, Seamus," he relented. "I'll promise, but only for you. Doesn't mean I'm going to pop on out there all fine and dandy, searching left and right for someone to replace you."

"You'd better not," answered Seamus indignantly.

Dean laughed again.

"See, no one could ever replace you," he sighed.

"Promise to stay loyal to you, too, wherever I'm going," continued Seamus. "Pretty sure I'm not going to find anyone as pretty as you in the wizardly afterlife."

Dean fluttered his long lashes, and Seamus pushed himself up to kiss his lover, already feeling the strength begin to leave him.

"Love you so much," Dean mumbled brokenly against Seamus's mouth.

"Love you so much, too," replied Seamus, his voice strained and weak. "So much."

With that, the being stepped to the side of the bed and took Seamus's hand, hauling him up and out of the bed. Seamus bit his lip, watching Dean hold his body and begin to cry, ragged sobs tearing out of him.

"No, no, no, no," sobbed Dean. "Seamus, I love you, don't leave, I love you, I love you, please, _please_..."

"Goodbye, Dean," whispered Seamus, closing his eyes and fading out of the world he'd known all his life.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dean was kneeling in the dirt, hot tears throwing themselves at the back of his tightly shut eyes. One of his hands was buried in the soft earth, fisting against the soil; the other was pressed against the frigid carved stone, fingers splayed. Debilitating pain split something just behind his sternum, splintering and fraying and chafing. It was agony. Everything was now.

Seamus had been gone a month, and Dean was empty without him.

With a roar of pent-up anger and sadness and loss and despair, Dean curled in on himself, rocking back and forth. The tears pressed against his eyelids but wouldn't flow, wouldn't leave his eyes no matter how much he tried. His eyes flew open, and he sobbed, tracing the letters of his lover's name with his fingers.

"You promised him," came a gentle voice from behind Dean, startling him. "You promised him you wouldn't do this, Dean. He wouldn't be happy with you."

Dean leaned his forehead against the gravestone.

"I know," he whispered. "I know, I know, I _know_ , but...I...but I can't. How did he expect me to just up and move on? _How_?"

He leapt to his feet and whirled around, glaring.

"I don't know," replied Luna calmly, "but I do know he wouldn't want you to pout. He'd laugh at you and hit you over the head."

Dean buried his face in his grimy hands.

"And then he'd hug me," he continued, his voice broken, "and I'd...I'd kiss him, and then he'd inevitably trip over something and fall on his bum and blame it on me."

He tried to laugh, but it came out flat and hollow. Luna fixed him with her solemn gaze, coming nearer and placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't force it, either, Dean. It's too soon. If you smother the sadness entirely, you will break. If you sit there and dwell, you will break. The one thing you can do is try to get on with your life. Yes, you will always be sad, and you will never forget him. You can heal if you don't keep ripping open the wound, but you will always have a scar. It is inevitable. When it comes down to it, though, Dean, would you want to forget about him?" asked Luna quietly.

"Yes," blurted out Dean, narrowing his eyes and jerking away from Luna's hand. "Yes, I _need_ to forget. Thank you."

He turned away and sprinted, ignoring Luna as she called after him. The painful shard behind his sternum dug deeper, and he doubled over, clutching at his chest, tearing at his shirt and at his hair. Dean shut his eyes, gripping his hair, and sucked in a deep breath. The pain expanded, leaving a terrible numbness in its wake, and Dean straightened, only just barely able to function.

In a move very unlike himself, Dean scoured the area for a pub and found himself in one before he even registered the decision. He sucked in a shuddering breath and dug around in his pocket for his wallet. It was unusually well-stocked, Dean having just stopped by the bank to pick up money for something or the other; it didn't matter at this point.

Nothing mattered, nothing but forgetting.

"What can I get you, sir?" asked the bartender, leaning forward with a friendly grin. "We've a good set of options."

"Strongest you have," replied Dean resolutely.

The bartender looked surprised at first, but then he met Dean's eyes. A flicker of understanding registered on his face.

"Very well, sir," the bartender responded, filling up a glass of a vile-looking drink.

The part of Dean that was still alive, still just barely alive because it was in denial, fluttered wildly and screamed at him that this was a terrible idea, but he ignored it.

"Right," muttered Dean, pulling out the money due and sliding it forward.

He was determined to forget, and he did, a few drinks later. His mind was enveloped in a comfortable fog, his head feeling vaguely stuffed with cotton, and he couldn't remember precisely where he was, nor could he remember why. All he knew was the sense of accomplishment he felt. Very drunk, Dean stumbled out of the pub.

"Have a nice evening," called the bartender.

The cold air was a shock to Dean's senses, and for one awful moment, he could remember everything. Fortunately, the fog returned, and Dean was utterly relieved. He looked around, his head spinning, and attempted in vain to orient himself. With a little giggle, Dean shrugged and stumbled through London. Clearly, his feet knew where to go, because the scenery began to look vaguely familiar. His glazed eyes settled on one particular building, and something behind his sternum tugged painfully.

"Y'know somethin' I don'," he hiccupped at his feet bemusedly, grinning and beginning to laugh hysterically. "Funny."

Dean stumbled across the street, greeting whatever strangers he happened across warmly and wondering vaguely why they looked at him with mixed pity, disgust, and fear. He tripped up the stairs leading to the building and hauled the door open, bracing himself against it so he didn't fall onto his bum. The thought got him giggling again. Dean lurched through the doorway, finding himself in a warm space between two doors, and squinted at a panel lined with buttons, and he pressed one he knew. There was an eventual buzz, and the second door unlocked with a loud click. Dean giggled at the click and moved on, searching for the room and eventually finding it. He pressed the button, slowly remembering why the place was familiar.

It was Seamus's flat.

What a brilliant idea it had been to come here! He could see Seamus and they could have laughs and kisses and so much fun. Dean grinned at his feet, thanking them for their fantastic knowledge of the streets of London. A strange thought came to him, and he briefly wondered why he hadn't seen Seamus in so long. Perhaps they were angry at one another. Hm. Peculiar.

These strange thoughts were abandoned when the door swung open and it wasn't Seamus. Dean goggled at the person in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" the young lady asked him politely.

"Er," blurted out Dean, suddenly uncomfortable, "Do you know where Seamus is?"

The lady scrunched up her nose, and Dean almost laughed. He didn't, though. He needed to know where Seamus was so they could stop being mad at each other.

"I...I don't think so," she began, frowning. "Why? Are you a friend of his?"

"Yes, 'n I know he lives here," replied Dean, anger rising in his throat. "Where's he? Where's Seamus?"

Suddenly, the lady's eyes widened, and she looked at him with sympathy.

"I remember you now. You were the gentleman who sold me this place just a month ago," she told him. "I do believe you're quite drunk, however. Seamus...he doesn't live here any longer."

Confused and concerned, Dean leaned against the wall.

"I don't...I don't..." he mumbled.

"Perhaps it would be best if you came inside for a bit of tea or something. Lucky for you I can fix you up. It's not a good idea to roam the streets so inebriated," she advised him. "Oh, and you might want to hide your wand in your pocket. There are Muggles about, see."

Dean stumbled inside after her and sat down heavily in a chair when she gestured for him to do so.

"But...Seamus..." he whispered.

The young lady hurried around the kitchen, placing a teabag in a mug and filling it with boiling water.

"Careful, it's hot," she told him, setting it down in front of him. "Do you take your tea with sugar?"

Dean's forehead creased.

"Can't remember," he hiccupped.

The lady pulled out a wand and flicked it at the mug. Instantly, the steam rising from it stopped doing so, and its color changed from a brown color to green.

"Drink up," she prompted him.

Dean did so hesitantly, sipping at the tea and grimacing. It was horrid, but some small voice in his head told him it was rude to say so. Dean listened to this voice, knowing it was not nice to be rude, and finished his tea. Suddenly and cruelly, the pleasant fog in his brain was ripped away, leaving him to remember.

He didn't want to. It was better when he'd forgotten.

"Merlin," he breathed out, his eyes widening.

Abruptly, Dean passed out.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Dean awoke slowly on a couch. It was a pleasant couch, a familiar couch, but not his couch, which he found to be an unfortunate fact. He kept his eyes closed, breathing in the very familiar smell of this couch and wondering what exactly made it so appealing, why he loved this scent so very much, and then it struck him.

It was the scent of Seamus, and he was lying on Seamus's couch.

Seamus was dead.

Dean's eyes flew open, and he shot up off the couch, horrified. His breaths came in heavy gasps, and he stared at the couch. How had he gotten there? The flat had been sold-

"Good morning," called a young lady's voice.

Dean turned around, his eyes round, and stared at the lady, mortified, as he recalled the events of the night prior. That splitting sensation behind his sternum dug at him further as he inhaled, the scent of Seamus enveloping him. He had missed this scent.

"I...I'm sorry," he finally stammered out. "I'll just...I'll just leave now."

He staggered over to the door, but the lady smiled gently at him and placed her hand on his arm.

"Don't. Have breakfast with me instead, if you're willing," she invited him.

Dean nodded numbly and made his way over to the table. It was already set for two. Across from him, the lady took her seat. Dean drew in a deep breath.

"Last night...I was trying so hard to forget something I never should have tried to forget. I made a mistake which led to several other mistakes and I ended up here," he blurted out all in one breath.

"Let's not start there. I'm Danielle Beauchene. What's your name?" she introduced herself, holding out one slim hand.

"Dean Thomas," he replied, shaking her extended hand, "and I am so _, so_ sorry."

"No need to be," Danielle assured him. "We've met before, but only briefly. If I remember correctly, this flat was left in your possession, and you sold it to me."

Dean cringed.

"Yes," he whispered, staring down at his plate.

"Eat," she told him, gesturing with her fork. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, who lived in this flat before?"

Dean braced himself. It was still painful to even say his name.

"Seamus Finnigan," he responded, clenching his jaw.

With that, the dull ache behind his sternum exploded just like the water Seamus had once tried to turn to rum. Dean's face crumpled, and he clutched at his chest. Danielle watched him quietly for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," she finally responded. "What...what was he to you?"

Dean wanted to lie, wanted to lie to himself and to Danielle and to Seamus, but it wasn't right.

"He was my partner, and not only in the work sense," he managed to tell her, his words stilted and stiff.

Danielle smiled sadly.

"I did get that feeling," she murmured, playing with her teacup.

"What're you, a Seer?" he joked weakly.

"A Healer," she countered, "one in the psychology ward, though. I've never been good with blood, but with emotions...at least I can empathize."

Dean sucked in a long breath, unable to meet Danielle's eyes. They were blue and too much like Seamus's. Everything about her was too much like Seamus, not least of which was her dream of becoming a Healer-her accomplished dream. Everything about everything was a constant, excruciating reminder of what he'd had and all he'd lost.

"What drove you to pursue that particular path?" Dean forced himself to ask.

Danielle didn't reply for a long time, and Dean looked up at her in askance. She was staring at her tea.

"I didn't want people to have to go through what I-what you're going through alone," she finally answered. "No one should have to go through that, much less alone."

Dean watched her carefully, trying to gauge her mannerisms, but there wasn't very much to gauge. Danielle had stabbed a piece of her scrambled egg and stuffed it in her mouth, her shoulders hunched.

"I appreciate your doing that," began Dean slowly, "and I'm sure many others do as well."

Dean hesitantly tried a piece of his scrambled egg, placing it in his mouth and masking a shudder.

"Thank you," sighed Danielle.

He nodded, placing his fork neatly and quietly on his plate. There was a suffocating silence, a silence that left room for thought. Dean found his mind drifting pleasantly all over the place, a welcome change after perpetual thought about Sea-

"So," Dean choked out, his throat closing up, "What school did you attend?"

"I'm your age, so you would've remembered me if I'd gone to Hogwarts...hopefully," laughed Danielle. "No, I went to Beauxbatons. I've only just recently gotten myself a permanent home in England."

"Really? You don't have an accent at all," remarked Dean, impressed.

Danielle smiled gratefully.

"Well, I'd been practicing with the best English tutors since a very young age," she admitted, toying with a lock of her sandy brown hair.

Dean's eyebrows rose.

"Your parents paid for English tutors for years, just like that?" he asked. "Wow. That's...wow."

"My mum and dad are rich purebloods," Danielle explained, glancing down self-consciously. "They...er...actually sided with You-Know-Who. That's why I left as soon as I could."

"That was very brave of you, Danielle, to leave like that," Dean told her. "It's incredibly difficult to just up and leave your loved ones."

Danielle bit her lip.

"I should've fought with you," she mumbled. "I should've, but I didn't. Instead, I was a coward. I'm no Gryffindor."

"What you did took a lot of courage in itself. Godric Gryffindor would be proud to call you one of his kin," Dean assured her firmly, meeting her blue eyes and clenching his jaw when they sparkled so familiarly.

Danielle blinked, tilting her head to one side and examining him curiously. Dean's hands fisted against his jeans; she wore the same expression the eleven-year-old Seamus had worn just prior to tackling him and introducing himself.

"Why do you have so much trouble looking me in the eye?" she inquired gently.

Dean tensed.

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied shortly, standing. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality, but I don't wish to intrude any further."

With that, he turned on his heel and left.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Dean's hand was shaking, his vision blurry, as he knocked on the door before him. It swung open instantly.

"Oh, _Dean_ ," sighed Danielle.

In what seemed like an instant, Dean was sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea before him. The world had gone from foggy to painfully sharp and clear in an instant, and his head was spinning.

"I'm sorry," he finally muttered. "I tried. I _tried_ , and it worked for a week, but then...then I saw something that reminded me of him and I just broke. Found some Firewhisky in my flat and...I was already angry, so I...I smashed every picture of us. Was _furious_. I didn't even realize the anger was there, just under the surface, but without it...I feel so empty. Must've been snapping at people for a long while. I'm so sorry."

Danielle watched him calmly, nodding.

"Good," she told Dean, smiling gently at his bewildered expression. "You've gotten all your anger out. I did know it was there, even though you didn't. All you needed was to let it all out."

Dean buried his face in his hands.

"I just want Seamus back," he ground out, gritting his teeth. "If I could do anything... _anything_..."

Danielle's eyes flashed.

"Don't even start down that path," she warned him, her soft voice suddenly sharp and intense. "Necromancy is Dark magic. Even if you succeeded in resurrecting Seamus-which you _wouldn't_ -it wouldn't be your Seamus. It would be something else."

Dean gripped his hair tightly.

"I know," he whispered. "I _know_ , but I miss him...I miss him, and you look so much like him, and every time I come here..."

He heard Danielle suck in her breath, and he closed his eyes.

"So that's why..." she murmured to herself. "You know, you look like someone I used to know, too. A Muggleborn, and my parents killed him because they didn't want the bloodline tainted."

Dean exhaled, his eyes snapping open.

"Oh," he managed, unable to keep his gaze from the wedding ring that adorned her finger. "Do you...do you need to talk about it?"

"We got married, as you can see," replied Danielle, smiling sadly. "It was a quiet, secret marriage. I didn't want my parents to know because I knew they'd be furious, but they found out and reacted by Stunning me and forcing me to watch as they killed him. I couldn't even cry out as the light left his eyes, but...the last thing he did... He could've glared at me for being so careless, but he didn't. He _didn't_. He smiled at me and told me he loved me and promised I'd see him again one day."

Dean stared at her, wondering how she could possibly keep her voice so steady.

"Merlin," he breathed. "I don't even know how to..."

"I wanted to see him right then and there, so I climbed up the Eiffel tower under my parents' most expensive Invisibility Cloak and...I was going to jump. Just as I stood on the railing, ready to leap off, something shoved me backwards, back onto the platform. It wasn't a gust of wind or something; it was like...a person," continued Danielle, her gaze distant. "I heard one word, like it was being whispered in my ear: _live_."

She wiped at her eyes, and Dean suddenly noticed the shimmering tear tracks sliding down her face. Danielle sniffled, using her sleeve to dry her face, and looked at him expectantly, somehow summoning up the strength to flash him a quick smile.

"I'll tell you," he acquiesced reluctantly, feeling himself tense. "Seamus and I were Aurors. One day, we went out on a dangerous mission, and he got hit by a spell. I was terrified; I thought he was dead when he fell over. He wasn't, and it was only temporary. After a bit, Seamus was back on his feet, but the mission was over by then. The Death Eater who fired the spell got away, but I was just relieved that Seamus was all right. When he was checked on by the Healers, they seemed a bit worried, saying something about him was strange, but they couldn't quite place what. Seamus, being his usual self, grinned and shrugged it off. He was fine for a week...and then he collapsed. From there, his health went downhill. I was desperate. I brought him to all the Healers I could find, but none of them...none of them could figure out what was going on or even hope to solve the problem, and Seamus was only getting worse. The testing they performed on him took its toll, and he was deathly ill for it. Finally, about a year after he got hit, he looked at me with his dull blue eyes-they used to sparkle with life, Danielle, and now they...they were so _dead_ -and begged me to stop. I didn't want to. I wanted- _needed_ to keep looking, but Seamus didn't. I asked him what he'd do if it were me in his place, hoping he would admit he'd keep going, but he looked at me and said, 'I'd stop if you asked me to, because I'd know it would only hurt you more. I'd stop looking, but I wouldn't give up on you. I'd stay with you every moment I could and I'd make what's left of your life beautiful for _you_.' I nodded and started to cry, and it was so idiotic of me, because then _he_ was left to comfort _me_. I tried so hard to make the last of his days beautiful, just like he wanted, I tried, but he couldn't even speak, and I know he could see my sadness and felt guilty for it."

Dean stopped, drawing in shuddering gasps of breath.

"Before he...stopped being able to speak...what did he last say?" ventured Danielle, her gaze searching.

"It was in his last five minutes that he somehow found the power to say something. Maybe it was a miracle, but I think he gave up the last of his strength for me. Maybe...maybe he could've lived longer if he hadn't spoken for me. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if he'd gone in with me," whispered Dean, horrified by himself. "It's all my fault."

"I blamed myself, too," offered Danielle. "It didn't solve anything. It didn't bring him back. I know Seamus would want you to be happy. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

Dean's breath hitched in his throat, catching on a small sob.

"Yeah," he admitted, convulsing with the effort of restraining his tears. "Yeah, he'd whack me upside the head and tell me to stop being so stupid with that faint brogue of his-he lost quite a bit of it, you know, living in England. He'd remind me of my last promise to him-that I'd be happy without him, that I'd...I'd not hold out for him if I found someone else."

"You promised him," Danielle repeated, fixing him with an achingly familiar look of determination. "If you promised him, Dean, then you've got to deliver on that promise. He wasn't asking you to skip on out of there and be joyous about his death, nor was he asking you to take up with the first attractive person you find. It's got to be a slow recovery, but an easier way would be...if you could tell me about him."

Dean swallowed. This was going to hurt, it was going to hurt a _lot_ , but it would make things better.

"Seamus Finnigan was determined, fierce, loyal, opinionated, hilarious, impossibly stubborn, and impossibly lovable," began Dean, the ghost of a smile brushing his face. "Did I tell you about the time we first kissed and he blew up the couch we were sitting on?"

" _Promise me you won't waste away in that flat," commanded Seamus, his voice stronger than it had been in a year. "Promise me you won't shut yourself up and mope. Promise me you won't just mourn. Promise me you'll be happy, even if I'm not there. Promise me...promise me that, if you find someone you love, you won't hold out for my memory."_

"All right, Seamus," whispered Dean. "I promise."


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

It had been a year since Danielle succumbed to her age and joined her husband-she never did tell Dean his name, but it was fine. Dean remembered the smile on her lined face as she lay in the hospital bed, the twinkle in her faded blue eyes as she left for her beloved. He closed his own eyes, tired but satisfied with the ninety seven years he'd spent alive. Already, he could feel his heartbeat begin to waver, his breathing grow shallow...and stop altogether. Dean cracked one eye open. He wasn't breathing, and he could see on the heart monitor that he'd flatlined, but he was still lying in the hospital bed. With a jolt, he realized someone was standing by his bedside, an oddly familiar yet alien figure. It was the most beautiful, unearthly being he'd ever seen.

"Er, hello," he greeted the being.

The being smiled at him, and it struck him why it looked so familiar. It was almost identical to Seamus, accounting for the beautiful part.

"Hello, Dean Thomas," it replied. "Congratulations. You have slipped very gracefully from the land of the living to the land of the dead."

Dean whistled.

"Wow. It's like I'm a pro or something," he chuckled. "I'm just so bloody _good_ at dying."

The being laughed, a lovely, bell-like sound.

"You're in a remarkably good humour," it remarked.

Dean smiled.

"Surprised me, too, but I've got good reason," replied Dean.

The being extended its hand, and Dean took it, a strange sensation enveloping him as he exited his body. Twisting around, Dean glanced at his body. His mouth was curved into a small smile, his eyes closed as though he was sleeping.

"Are you ready?" queried the being.

Dean nodded, bracing himself. The world around him dissolved into infinite intangible fragments, fading to a blinding white. Dean's hand closed on nothing as the being released him, stepping away, and he squinted. The light dimmed, revealing a familiar room. Dean blinked, turning around and staring out the window. A meadow spanned for an immeasurable distance, broken only by mountains on the horizon and a small lake bordering a forest. Dean sucked in a breath despite the fact that he no longer needed it; old habits did indeed die hard, even when the person itself was dead. He knew this place almost as if by heart. It was the house he and Seamus had dreamed up, and he was in the art studio. Whirling around, Dean stared at everything, his gaze focusing on one person. If his heart had still been beating, it would have stopped right then and there.

Trembling, Dean walked over to the person, who had gone rigid, and placed a hand on their shoulder.

"Seamus?" he whispered.

Seamus dropped the piece of paper he'd been holding-a photograph of Dean and himself, grinning and messing with one another's hair, and turned slowly around.

" _Dean_ ," Seamus managed, his blue eyes wide.

Dean felt tears rise in his eyes.

"It's been far too long," he told Seamus, "But I did what you'd've wanted me to do, I hope. Tried to live out my life."

Seamus smiled, his own eyes brimming with lacrimal liquid.

"I know," he breathed, raising one trembling hand to cup Dean's cheek. "I was watching and waiting and hoping and..."

"Did you watch me...y'know...die?" asked Dean uncomfortably. "It was a bit awkward, but the being who escorted me here said I died gracefully. Dunno if it's a compliment."

Seamus laughed, stroking Dean's face as if to re-memorize its every curve and angle, and leaned his head against Dean's chest.

"I couldn't," he admitted. "Even though I knew you'd be coming here, I couldn't watch you die. It hurt too much."

Dean made a face.

" _I_ had to watch _you_ die, and you were young," Dean objected. "Not fair, Finnigan."

Seamus stuck out his tongue. Rather than try to think up a comeback and make himself look a fool, Seamus reached up on tiptoe and pressed his lips to Dean's in a kiss, and Dean knew he was finally, _finally_ home.


End file.
